


A Cruel Deception

by A_Starry_Night



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Gen, Inspired by classical music
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-09
Updated: 2016-01-09
Packaged: 2018-05-12 17:09:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5673910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Starry_Night/pseuds/A_Starry_Night





	A Cruel Deception

Being a Time Lord with a human body, the Metacrisis Doctor could not fight against the fingers of steel wrapped around his forearms that were dragging him kicking and protesting down the halls of the Tardis. The Old Girl’s normal coral coloring had gone blood red in warning and alarm, and he could hear faintly over all the noise the Cloister Bell thrumming its toll.

Perhaps he wasn’t in mortal danger, he supposed in a detached sense; but he was certainly in just as deadly.

Even knowing it was useless, he scrabbled desperately to grab something, anything at all that would help him escape from his captor, and yelped when the corresponding grip tightened enough to shift bone. He twisted, feet banging against the floor, his single human heart flying frantically in his chest.

He had gone too far this time. And now he was going to pay for it.

But still he tried, desperately attempting to stop the madness that had so horribly descended upon them all. “Please—please, just stop this, you know this is wrong! The timelines—“

The hands released him. Inertia made him crash mercilessly to the grating floor, knocking the breath from his lungs. Rough fingers grabbed his hair and dragged his head up.

The Doctor’s—no, not the Doctor’s, the Metacrisis bitterly reminded himself, he doesn’t go by that name any longer—eyes glared at him coldly, alive and flaming with madness and icy arrogance. “The timelines,” he whispered quietly, “are mine to control.”

“They’re not!” the Metacrisis protested hoarsely for the millionth time. “You’re destroying them—“

“I have that right!” came the retort. “I am the last of my kind, the Time Lord Victorious, and I can leave civilizations burning if I so choose.”

“You’re not alone!” Again he was repeating himself for the millionth time but he still kept trying. “You’ve got—“

“Who?” the Time Lord Victorious interrupted; cruel amusement flitted across his expression. “You?” His tone was sharp as a knife and just as cutting. “You’re nothing. You’re a freak of science and happenstance. You don’t even have a name.” His voice turned cold again and the Metacrisis shrank away from the deadly coldness of his captor’s expression. “And I’ve been very forgiving—very, very forgiving with you all this time, putting up with all your prattling and pleas and kindness. This time—well, this time, you’ve finally managed to piss me off.”

The Metacrisis glared up at him. “Reverting to cursing, Doctor?” he sneered, his own temper flaring. “How very human of you.”

Sharp pain exploded along his mouth and he could taste blood. The Time Lord Victorious released his hair and quickly grabbed hold of his arms, starting to drag him off again.

“How many worlds?” the Metacrisis demanded, trying to twist away again. “How many people have you left burning now?”

They’d reached the doorway of wherever it was he was being taken. The Time Lord Victorious sneered down at him. “Don’t think you can wag your tongue and talk your way out of this, or ‘snap me out of this’. I know exactly what you’re going to say, remember.”

“Impressive. Is that your own genius telling you that?”

“I don’t have to be a genius to figure that one out.”

The Metacrisis managed to twist around enough to glare at him. “What, you’re afraid I’m the snake here to tempt you?”

Cold indifference lifted the Time Lord’s brow. “Oh, bringing religious views into this now, are you? That’s new, I admit.” Shifting his grip he dumped the Metacrisis onto the ground by the farthest wall. “I knew there was a reason I’ve kept you around.”

Rubbing his wrists, cursing the weaker bone structure of the species he was now a part of, the Metacrisis wiped off a last smudge of blood from his mouth. The room his captor had brought him to was small and dimly lit, faintly thrumming with the Old Girl’s distress. It was empty. He began to rise but the Time Lord Victorious placed one foot atop his sternum; he stilled, his sharp intake of breath the only thing that broke the silence. For a long, still moment, nothing moved.

“I could crush your sternum and watch you choke to death on your own blood on the floor right now.” He bent down, his voice a mere whisper. “I hear that drowning is one of the most painful ways of dying.”

“Seems to be one of the few you haven’t managed yet,” the Metacrisis snapped without thought, and groaned when the pressure on his chest spiked, threatening to break bone. Panic surged up his throat, clawing at his control. He swallowed hard, unable to hide the fear that had risen.

The Time Lord sensed it, and it made him smile. “You’ll never learn, will you?” he said quietly, almost fondly, but the darkness in his eyes made him a demon.

“Not if it makes me like you,” the Metacrisis whispered, trying to conceal the shaking in his voice.

For a long moment the Time Lord Victorious was silent, looking down at him. Then he shifted, lessening the weight on his captive’s chest. He didn’t move far, however, merely grabbed something by the Metacrisis’s head. The clanking of chains echoed eerily in the near-silence. Slowly the Time Lord brought the chains into view, swinging them back and forth teasingly. “These are made from Dwarf star alloy,” he finally explained softly. “Nothing can break them, nothing can escape from them. Once I put them on you… you’re stuck. Forever.”

He really was going to be sick. The Metacrisis knew that the Time Lord Victorious was cruel, but he had never expected this. He had never expected this to be his punishment, the worst fate imaginable.

Desperation made him struggle again, fearing the monster that kneeled above him and dreading the fate that was befalling him. Humans reacted in two ways: fight or flight. He instinctively tried the latter, a response born from the remnant of the man he had been created from. Terror gave him strength— taken aback, the Time Lord Victorious fell back as his captive fought him, dropping the chains as he struggled to keep his balance.

Sensing his chance the Metacrisis lurched to his feet and instinctively lunged for the door, sensing the Old Girl’s distress and encouragement, urging him out in her halls where she would help lose his captor. Get out get out get out get out—

But the Time Lord Victorious was fast. Faster than his human counterpart, and if he was angry before he was furious now. He was quick to follow his captive, and this time resorted to brute violence to take him down. As the Doctor he had never resorted to physical fighting, wanting instead to outwit his enemy or solve a problem by mental prowess alone, but things were different now. Sensing the Old Girl’s switching allegiances, he leapt to intercede the Metacrisis’s path to the door and struck him hard on the back of the head. 

The Metacrisis crumpled to the floor. Fury pounding like fire, the Time Lord Victorious stepped over him and closed the door firmly, cursing his stupidity in not checking it earlier. He should have known his Metacrisis would react in a human way—he was one, after all. Too much of Donna in him, that’s what he often said.

Donna. The thought of her, his fiery redheaded best friend, stopped the Time Lord Victorious short still gripping the handle of the door. His eyes softened and for a moment he was the Doctor again, recalling her with painful clarity. She would slap him harder than ever for this, he knew, and probably do a little more than that to know what he was doing. What he’d done.

But she wasn’t here. She wasn’t here and he wasn’t going to let the universe tell him what to do any longer. The moment was gone and the Doctor disappeared into the Time Lord Victorious once again.

Turning, he looked down at the Metacrisis, who was just beginning to stir again. Without pause he bent and for the third time grabbed his duplicate and dragged him back to the far wall. 

Dizzy and disoriented, the Metacrisis barely fought as he was moved to sit upright along the wall, trying to find his bearings again. But then the clanking of those damned chains echoed low and ominously in the silence, and he stiffened again.

The Time Lord Victorious looked at him with murder in his eyes and he froze.

“You love life,” the Time Lord Victorious said quietly and with inhuman strength opened the manacles, grabbing the Metacrisis’s wrist with his other hand. With a finalizing clack the manacle snapped shut. The Metacrisis slumped beaten against the wall, terror and a new choking defeat making him want to weep. The Time Lord Victorious kept looking at him, however, refusing to let him go. “You’re afraid of death almost as much as you’re afraid of failure.”

The second shackle closed and the Time Lord Victorious slipped his sonic screwdriver out, sweeping it up and down the chains to check they were in perfect condition.

“While you’re in here, think about that. Every minute you’re here, remember that you’ve failed one more person. One more planet. One more innocent little insignificant life.” He leaned forward, voice a whisper. “You’re nothing. Remember that. 

“You’ve failed.”

Standing, he turned smoothly on his heel and opened the door, looking back at the Metacrisis still huddled against the far wall, the Dwarf alloy chains spread around him glinting in the low light. Stuck in this room forever, hidden from the entire world and damned to silence for the rest of his days.

Satisfied, the Time Lord Victorious smiled and closed the door gently behind him.

The finalizing sound of the door clicking shut finally did what nothing else did not. Sinking onto the floor, the Metacrisis curled into a ball and wept.


End file.
